


He Was Golden

by 401



Series: 'He Was'- Poetry Series [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Poetry, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, actually a poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem describing Bucky's experience of the last sequences of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.<br/>Bucky's POV kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Was Golden

**Author's Note:**

> thought Id try something new

They never thought they'd see you here,

An invisible entity, built to fear,

And built to kill, a ghost to find,

An efficient destroyer, a solitary mind.

 

A mind that they knew had been taken apart,

Dotted with frustrations and blinks from your past,

Hazing your vision, making you fume

At the cycle of memory, bury, exhume.

 

Bury, exhume. Treat you like dirt,

Make you a weapon, who cares if it hurts?

You've hurt many others so you're evenly broke,

You've just burnt your own hands on a fire _you_ stoked.

 

But something is calling that isn't so vague,

Splatters of red, white and blue on a page,

And gold. Gold from his head to his heart.

He makes you feel stuff, and boy it sure hurts.

 

So like everything else that steps in your way,

Sticking its fingers through the bars of your cage,

Eliminate. Kill. Mark and arrest,

They'll torture you anyway, just do your best.

 

But God, something about him feels warm,

A temporary relief from your storm

Of uncertain, unclear truths in your head.

You shouldn't be fighting but holding instead.

 

But who in the hell last taught you to hold?

Your hands are unpractised in all but the cold,

So you try it again, to wipe him from view.

Since when did memories mean that much to you?

 

He slips from your grasp, letting you win.

The heat you've been craving makes you give in,

You jump through the carnage that you fashioned yourself,

You'll feel this for a while, it's gonna' be hell.

 

On more look tells you he isn't a hit,

Your hands might be different but they still seem to fit,

And you know he'll stay with you, when your world starts to splinter,

Till' the end of the line.

To the end of this winter.


End file.
